


Fighting Over Dessert

by JayKay (McKay)



Series: Knight Moves [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/JayKay
Summary: Obi and Maul have a minor dispute.





	Fighting Over Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2000.

Finally, it happened. 

The Council has given Maul and me permission to accept missions as a team, and we'll leave on our first one in three days. Sure, they're starting us off easy--just a routine diplomatic thing. I've been on so many of those with Qui-Gon I could sleep-walk through it, but I assume they're going slowly and cautiously because of Maul. 

Still, it's progress, and definitely a cause for celebration. We rounded up some of our friends, shed the Jedi robes for the night in favor of civvies and went out of the Temple for dinner. There ended up being seven of us gathered around a long table, and Maul took a place at the far end, choosing to stay slightly apart, the better to sit quietly and watch as he usually does. He can carry on a conversation when he wants to, but he tends to take on the role of observer rather than participant in large groups. Unlike me, who loves getting in the middle of things, he prefers one-on-one or small group discussions. 

I sat along one side of the table, in the middle where I could see and hear everything going on; it kept me apart from Maul, but neither of us care to be joined at the hip anyway. He doesn't take it as a personal insult if I'm not near him at every given opportunity, and neither do I. I was having a great time anyway, pleased with the prospect of going on a mission for the first time in over two years and enjoying the company I was in. 

My only concern was that Maul might get tired of being around so many people or grow bored. While we were all settling in after the dessert course, ready to sit back and enjoy the after-dinner contentment, I glanced over at him, trying to catch his attention. He looked at me immediately as if sensing my gaze had been turned on him, and our eyes met and held. 

//You've been quiet for the last few minutes,// I spoke to him along the bond we shared. 

It hadn't been a conscious decision for us to bond; the Force had done it for us early on, forging it while we meditated together. It had begun as a simple Master-Padawan bond, but since then, it's grown into something more. Something deeper. I don't think either of us have probed it too much yet, though. Even though I couldn't imagine my life without him in it, the thought that we might unconsciously be forming a life bond is still a little overwhelming, especially since the whole thing has been taken out of our hands from the beginning. I would've liked to have had *some* say in the matter! 

//Are you bored?// I asked, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, the barest hint of a smile tilting his lips upward. //What are you thinking about, then?// 

The next thing I knew, my mind was flooded with images of myself moaning and writhing as he took me; I could see myself flushed, nearly screaming with need, felt the pleasure almost as intensely as if he were touching me physically, not just mentally, and through it all, the low pulse of one word being chanted: "Mine." 

I was suddenly, ragingly erect. 

Pleasant after-dinner conversation was forgotten; all I wanted was to grab him and drag him back to the Temple, back to our quarters where I could make all those images become reality, except I wanted *him* to be the one going out of his mind with desire as I claimed him. 

On the surface, it seems like our roles in the relationship are pretty clear. Maul's the quiet, introspective one. He's always calm, always soft-spoken, and he's also very meticulous. I guess years of living with no possessions other than the bare essentials have left him incapable of looking at clutter without his fingers itching to put it away somewhere. Too bad for him I'm a collector! 

Meanwhile, I'm the outspoken one, the energetic one; he says I never stop laughing and smiling, and I say he doesn't do either nearly enough. You'd think just looking at us that I'd be the leader, and he the follower. Right? 

Wrong. 

He's quiet, yes, but there's nothing passive about him. If he ever *does* act passive, I know there's something wrong! Calm and peaceful to be around, yes, he is, but get him in a fight or a bed, and that calm quickly gives way to a fierce intensity that can still leave me breathless. There's still something of the predator about him, but that's definitely not a complaint. 

Still, I'm not exactly the model of passivity myself. The good thing is, we seem to have struck a balance. For the most part, anyway. There are times when I want to take charge during our love-making--to take *him*--and he allows it. In turn, I allow him to be in control when he wants to be. We give and take according to our moods. And then there are times that both of us want to be the aggressor, and neither of us want to give in to the other. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

Even though I wanted to leave right then, I waited. I leaned back in my chair and pretended to pay more attention to the conversation flowing around me than I really was. Meanwhile, the majority of my attention was focused on my lover, hoping my delaying tactic was making him squirm with frustration and growing need. He'd never show it, of course, but I'd reap the benefits of it once we were alone. 

If he felt as impatient as I did, no one would've ever guessed. He sat back, rested his elbows on his chair-arms and laced his fingers together, tapping them against his chin as he listened to our friends chat. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, darker blue than his eyes--the first time I'd seen him in anything other than either Sith or Jedi robes since that night he faced the clone of himself. In the low light of the restaurant, his lean, angular face illuminated by a flickering candle placed on the table for atmosphere, he appeared dark and enigmatic, his expression giving away nothing of his thoughts. 

Only I knew what they were. 

He caught me peeking at him, and his slight smile turned feral; he knew I wanted to leave, to be alone with him, but I was determined to draw out the anticipation and reduce him to a quivering mass of need--all for me. My answering smile was wolfish. I placed my forefinger against the cleft in my chin, rubbing it back and forth slowly, and I saw the flare of passion in his eyes. For some reason, he's always been drawn to that dimple; he kisses it, touches it and laves it with his tongue whenever he can, so I knew watching me fondle it would heighten his desire. 

Of course, I should've known that I'm not the only one who's aware of his lover's weaknesses and willing to exploit them. 

As I watched out of the corner of my eye, Maul raised his hand to his mouth and began stroking his bottom lip, moving his long, graceful fingers across it, tantalizing me, knowing how much I love nibbling on that full, delicious lip. I wanted to taste it right then, to draw it into my mouth and release it slowly. Then he made my agony a hundred times worse by letting his tongue peek out just enough to wet it, making the skin glisten in the golden glow of the nearby candle. 

I clamped my lips together, trying to repress a moan at the sight; my erection had subsided a little, but now it was stirring to life once more, and I was glad I was sitting down and that my lap was hidden by a table. Unfortunately, our friends seemed to be in no hurry; everyone was still laughing and talking, lingering over tea and the remains of their dessert. I couldn't be rude and just leave them all there just so I could go home and ravish Maul, especially since we'd invited them in the first place. So I had to sit there and think cold thoughts, pretending to be interested in whatever they were saying when in fact my mind was racing to come up with a way of making Maul just as anxious as I was. 

If I'd been sitting next to him, I would have touched him, perhaps stroked his thigh not *quite* high enough or found a way to brush kisses against his ear--one of his more sensitive spots. But there were three people and a length of table between us, so my options were limited unless I used the Force to touch him, which I didn't want to do quite yet. There was something delightfully wicked about teasing each other visually without using anything but our own knowledge of each other to heighten each other's arousal. 

Ever since being Knighted, I've let my hair grow, and it's long now, just past my shoulders. I'm not authorized to wear a Master's knot, but I often wear it pulled back in a ponytail as I did when I was a Padawan. But Maul prefers it down so he can stroke it. Even though he was brought up practically an ascetic, by nature, he's very sensual, and now he takes pleasure in little things--just running his fingers through my hair. All his life, he's had next to nothing. In comparison, an inconsequential indulgance like that must seem like sheerest luxury. 

Tonight, I was wearing it tied back, but as I looked steadily at Jossen, giving every appearance of paying close attention to him, I slowly reached up and pulled out the tie, shaking my head so that my hair fell loose, and then I raked my fingers through it as if finger-combing it into order. Glancing side-long at Maul, I saw his throat convulse once, and then he sat back in his chair, withdrawing to the safety of shadows. 

For the rest of the night, he did nothing, but I wasn't so stupid as to assume that meant I'd won. I knew from experience with his tenacity that it only meant he was working out a strategy for retaliation which he'd enact in his own time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Bant reluctantly pushed back her chair. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice laden with regret. "I've enjoyed this so much, but I've got to get back to the Temple." 

She needed to immerse in water, in other words. I was so relieved, I could've kissed her. The rest of our companions took that as their cue as well, and everyone began standing up and preparing to return home. Maul waited until the table had cleared before moving to stand beside me; I wondered what he had in mind--and then I found out. 

He reached out and put his hand on the back of my neck. 

That was all, but that was enough. 

He slipped his fingers beneath my hair and beneath my collar so he could caress the warm skin he found with his thumb. Just a slow, steady, rhythmic stroking. He kept his hand there as we walked out of the restaurant, as we waited for a skycab, as we bid farewell and good night to our friends. 

All that time with just that maddeningly slow, stroking thumb. 

As far as I was concerned, we couldn't get back home quickly enough. And when we did, I had plans for my wicked, tempting lover. 

As soon as the door of our quarters closed behind us, I reached out to grab Maul and yank him to me. Maul had other ideas. Pivoting with lightning-quickness on his heel, he snaked out one hand and tangled it in my hair, twining it around his fingers; he wasn't hurting me, but if I tried to pull away, I'd feel it. His other arm was suddenly around my waist, and he walked me backwards until my back hit the wall. 

Pressing his lithe body along the length of mine, he pinned me against the wall and kissed me, claiming me with his lips and tongue. If I hadn't been so determined to take the lead myself, I would have relaxed and enjoyed his thorough exploration of my mouth. I love it when he kisses me like that, leaving nothing untouched or untasted, especially when the kiss is infused with the heat that one was. Pushing my legs apart with his knee, he began rocking his hips against mine in a steady rhythm, giving me a preview of what he intended. 

But instead of catching the rhythm and moving with him, I grasped his shoulders and pushed, putting space between us and making *him* walk backwards--this time to our bedroom. For a moment, he went along, and I thought he'd acquiesced to letting me be the aggressor this time. 

I should've known better. 

We'd only gone a few steps before he dug in his heels, and I might as well have been trying to move a mountain. A feral intensity lit his dark blue eyes as he captured my gaze and held it; the battle of wills was on. He growled low in his throat, his lip lifting in a snarl. That look in battle means someone is going to die. That look in the bedroom--or in that case, the common area--means I'm about to be pounced on, sometimes literally, and I braced, readying myself for his next move. 

It wasn't long in coming. He began circling me, pacing and growling like an angry predator, and I found myself instinctively falling into a defensive crouch. I knew he wouldn't deliberately hurt me--this was about winning the upper hand, not pain--but I had no intention of losing. 

Suddenly he tackled me, grabbing me around the waist and sending us both tumbling to the floor. He twisted so that I wouldn't take the brunt of his weight as we landed, and that small consideration gave me the opening I needed to roll us over until he was trapped beneath me. 

Panting with exertion and frustrated desire, I stretched out full-length on top of him, grasping his wrists and holding them, thinking I had finally bested him and he'd have to give up now--until he scissored his legs around mine, threw his weight against me and flipped me onto my back. 

I stared up at him, drinking in the sight of smoldering passion in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks and neck, the stubborn set of his jaw. In that moment, I realized the battle could go on all night; we were too well-matched, and this would only end in a stalemate unless one of us gave in. 

But *I* didn't want to be the one to give. 

An eternal moment spun out between us as we gazed at each other; I could feel his desire and determination along our bond, and I answered it with my own, letting him know not to expect an easy victory. The steel twined around the core of his being met and clashed with the tempestuous intensity dancing in mine... and I began to realize how these fundamental differences weave us into a complementary whole. I am fire to his ice. He is earth to my air. We balance one another, our strengths supporting the weaknesses of the other. 

If we struggle against one another, we weaken ourselves. If we work together, we are unconquerable. 

Our bond was completely open, and so my thoughts flowed to him almost as soon as I thought them; I could see the moment of illumination in his eyes, and in that moment, our battle became a dance. 

Moving as one, we rolled onto our sides, facing each other, and our lips met again with all the heat and intensity as before, but this time channeled differently. Instead of struggling to best one another, we used our mutually strong wills to bring pleasure. 

Our tongues met and mated; he stroked the roof of my mouth, and I captured his tongue to suck lightly and taste it, coaxing out a soft moan--and then he drew in my tongue and worked such magic on it that my answering moan was significantly louder than his had been. He threaded his fingers into my hair, holding my head in place as he made love to my mouth, and I slid my hands down to the small of his back, pulling him closer so I could feel every inch of him pressed against me. 

We fit perfectly, and I love feeling that finely-honed, steel-muscled body in the circle of my arms; all that strength, and I hold it. It's still something of a marvel when I realize he trusts me enough to relax in my embrace. He lets me see him at his most vulnerable--at the height of passion and in the depths of sleep--and doesn't think twice about it. 

I draped my leg over his hip, curving it around him to pull him even closer, and he slid his thigh between my legs; this time, we began moving together, rocking slowly as one kiss flowed into another, as we fed off each other's desire, sending it back and forth along our bond, letting it heighten our arousal to a single white-hot flame burning between us. 

He moaned low in his throat, and I pressed eager, open-mouthed kisses against his neck, feeling the vibration against my lips; my rational mind was shutting down, and all I could hear over the pounding of my own blood was a chanted litany in my mind: //...want you... need you... love you...// But I wasn't sure who it was coming from: me or him or maybe both of us. 

Our hands tore at clothes, not bothering to fumble with fastenings, but simply yanking the offending garments out of confinement and out of the way as much as possible. I cried out when he latched onto my nipple, teasing and suckling, and I mirrored his actions with my fingers, satisfied by the soft hiss that escaped him at my touch. 

The tempo our bodies had set increased, our hips bucking and pounding against each other, and I felt myself growing closer to release; we writhed furiously together, hands roaming, seeking, finding, our mouths meeting again and again in hot, hungry kisses as we poured passion and desire and encouragement into our bond. I wanted him to come like this, to be able to *make* him come like this, without even touching him intimately, and in return I heard his silent urging for me to let go, he wanted to see and feel me shatter, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, almost breaking... almost snapping... 

And then it hit me, a searing explosion of pleasure that set off white light behind my eyes, and I cried out his name, thrusting convulsively as my entire body shook with release. At the same moment, I felt him surge against me, felt his fingers tighten their grip, felt the saturation of pleasure in his mind as he lost himself in sensation. 

Spent but bonelessly happy, I collapsed, barely having the energy to keep my arms around him; the floor wasn't the most comfortable place to bask in the afterglow of such an incredible experience, but there was no chance of me being able to get up and move to the bedroom. Even if I could have crawled in there, hauling myself onto the bed would have been too great an effort. Instead, I buried my face against Maul's neck, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of his skin, and focused on calming my breathing. 

Somehow, I sensed that the connection between us had just been deepened even more, and that our bond had grown even stronger. Once that might have frightened me a little, but now... I've accepted that our bond is the will of the Force. I had always thought I would choose the person I wanted to knit my soul to, but that choice was made for me... probably because I was being too stubborn to see what was before my own eyes at the time. Given a choice, I would've seen Maul dead or at least banished forever. I wouldn't have chosen him to share my life with. 

But what did I know? Nothing, obviously. The Force knew how well we complete each other even if I did not at first. In so many ways, we balance each other, complement each other. We fit. My soul slid into place next to his, and there it will stay. 

He wrapped his arms around me and rubbed his cheek against the top of my head; we were both sighing with contentment, but neither of us had the energy to speak until some moments later. 

"I believe we have learned a lesson," he murmured at last, a note of amusement lacing his voice. 

I lifted my head just enough so that I could look at him. "What, that it's better for us to work with each other rather than against each other?" 

"Yes." 

"If it gets results like this--definitely." 

We lay there in silence for a few minutes longer, and then I began to laugh, which of course got me on the receiving end of one of his "what now?" looks. 

"And just think!" I said, grinning at him. "We're still dressed!" 

Maul considered this solemnly for a moment, and then a slow, small but decidedly wicked smile curved his lips. 

"This is true," he replied, sliding one hand slowly down until he was cradling me in his palm, and I gasped, the first flashes of new arousal set off within me at his touch. "Now that the main course has been served and enjoyed, I believe we can linger over dessert." 

Which we did. And the lingering was sweet indeed.  
  


  
-End-  



End file.
